"Lady In The Lake" by Laura Lippman

While this is most definitely a true crime blog, I'm going to recommend a work of fiction.

Why?

Well, not only was "Lady In The Lake" by Laura Lippman an enjoyable novel but it has its roots in two actual Baltimore crimes that occurred in 1969.

Just like any good "Law and Order" episode, the names have been changed to protect the innocent but the inspiration for the victims are real.

I won't go too deeply into the particulars of the crimes because there are enough parallels between what's true and what's imaginary, regarding the lives and deaths of the victims, that to do so might spoil the book for you.

However, I'd hate to leave you hanging or require you to research the real crimes yourself.

It's a fine line.

Here's the description from the back of the book:
 

The New York Times bestselling author returns with a novel set in 1960s Baltimore that combines modern psychological insights with elements of classic noir, about a housewife turned aspiring reporter who pursues the murder of a forgotten young woman.

In 1966, Baltimore is a city of secrets that everyone seems to know—everyone, that is, except Madeline “Maddie” Schwartz. Last year, she was a happy, even pampered housewife. This year, she’s bolted from her marriage of almost twenty years, determined to make good on her youthful ambitions to live a passionate, meaningful life. 

Maddie wants to matter, to leave her mark on a swiftly changing world. Drawing on her own secrets, she helps Baltimore police find a murdered girl — assistance that leads to a job at the city’s afternoon newspaper, the Star. Working at the newspaper offers Maddie the opportunity to make her name, and she has found just the story to do it: a missing black woman whose body was discovered in the fountain of a city park lake.

Cleo Sherwood was a young black woman who liked to have a good time. No one seems to know or care why she was killed except Maddie — and the dead woman herself. Maddie sets out to find the truth about Cleo’s life and death, but Cleo’s ghost, privy to Maddie’s poking and prying, wants to be left alone. 

Maddie’s investigation brings her into contact with people who used to be on the periphery of her life — a jewelry store clerk, a waitress, a rising star on the Baltimore Orioles, a patrol cop, a hardened female reporter, a lonely man in a movie theater. But for all her ambition and drive, Maddie may fail to see the people right in front of her. Her inability to look beyond her own needs could lead to tragedy and turmoil for all sorts of people — including the man who shares her bed, a black police officer who cares for Maddie more than she knows.

Esther Lebowitz

Author Laura Lippman was all of 10-years-old when, on September 29, 1969, Esther Lebowitz disappeared while on her way home from school.

Esther -
Baltimore Sun photo

The search for 11-year-old Esther and the discovery of her body two days later made the pages of the Baltimore newspapers and these events made a lasting impression on young Laura.

Laura followed the case closely, perhaps thinking "this could easily be me."

Laura had easy access to the updates on this developing story because her father, Leo Lippman, Jr., was a reporter for the Baltimore Sun; two copies of his newspaper (an early and an evening edition) were delivered to the Lippman house every day.

Wayne Stephen Young, 23, was quickly caught and the forensics that made the arrest possible are the same in real life as in the book.

Young confessed to killing Esther in a fit of temporary insanity.

A psychiatrist for the defense, Dr. Ian Mackay, testified that when Young killed Esther he "was trying to destroy his mother." Dr. Mackay stated that Young had been under "perpetual stress" for years because of a "dependence on his mother's will."

Wayne Stephen Young's father, Albert,  had died in 1954 when Wayne was 8-years-old.

Esther Lebowitz had been struck on the head 17 times with a blunt instrument and sexually molested.

Wayne Stephen Young escorted into Baltimore Police HQ by Sgt Harry Bannon, 1969

The insanity defense was rejected and, after 30 minutes of deliberation, the jury returned a guilty verdict. Young received a life sentence in prison.

He was out of sight but the crime was never truly forgotten by the community. Especially as parole hearings and multiple appeals filed on his behalf over the decades wouldn't let people forget. In fact, when Young died in prison, on December 21, 2015 from heart failure, he was awaiting a new trial.

It wasn't until 1989 when Laura Lippman, following in her father's footsteps, began working as a reporter at the Baltimore Sun that she had heard of the mysterious 1969 disappearance of 35-year-old Shirley Lee Parker.

It's fair to assume that even if 10-year-old Laura had heard of Shirley's fate, it wouldn't have resonated to quite the same degree as the death of someone in her own age group.

Shirley Lee Parker, HS photo

Shirley Lee Widgeon Parker, a twice-divorced mother of two boys, aged 9 and 14 years, was reported missing by her mother on April 23, 1969. This was five months before Esther Lebowitz went missing.

Shirley held many jobs over the years but at the time of her disappearance she was working at the popular Sphinx Club as a bookkeeper and bartender. She was also a secretary for the Urban League and did volunteer work with the NAACP.

Pratt Library collection

Shirley was last seen in the company of her 33-year-old boyfriend, Arno West.

The couple had engaged in a "heated argument" when Shirley confronted Arno about him buying clothing for another woman with money from her paycheck.

Arno was reliant on money Shirley funneled his way and the idea that he was using her money to buy gifts for another woman infuriated Shirley. Arno told police that he and Shirley went for a drive afterwards, to have some drinks and "cool off."

According to Arno, Shirley wanted to walk around Druid Hill Park and he witnessed her climbing over a 10 foot gate to access the lake. Arno followed suit, struggled with Shirley and managed to persuade her not to go for a swim in the lake. Afterwards, he dropped Shirley back at the house she shared with her mother and youngest son.

Shirley's mother, Theresa Austin, told police her daughter never came home that night.

Theresa Austin - AFRO, May 13, 1969

The possibility of accidental drowning was immediately dismissed by Shirley's mother. Theresa told reporters, "Shirley was an expert swimmer. She was once a Druid Park pool lifeguard."

When asked if Shirley was suicidal, Mrs. Austin told police her daughter "loved life."

"It's not like my daughter to stay away without calling me or inquiring about her 9-year-old son David, who is here with me. Something awful must have happened."

Shirley's older son from her first marriage, Richard Price, Jr., was living with his father in Pennsylvania.

On May 12, 1969, police did drag the 25 foot deep lake but found no trace of Shirley.

Nobody thought to check the fountain.

The Baltimore Sun never mentioned Shirley's disappearance or the searches and interviews conducted over the two months that she was missing. Only the chance discovery of her badly-decomposed, fully-clothed body which was found floating face-down in the lake's fountain warranted a mention.

On June 2, 1969, a crew of three electricians had been dispatched to repair the two lights at the top of the fountain and were shocked to find a body wedged between some pipes and lights in a four foot depression on the top of the fountain.

The lake's fountain rose 20 feet above the water and was situated about 380 feet from the nearest shore. The top of the fountain could be reached by climbing an 18 foot metal ladder.

Druid Hill Park Reservoir fountain, mapio.net site image

Several factors make Shirley's boyfriend Arno West look guilty.

Arno was seen arguing with the victim the night she disappeared.

Arno also told conflicting stories about Shirley's purse. He initially told investigators that he had picked up the purse after convincing Shirley not to enter the lake and handed it back to her prior to dropping Shirley at home but then it was Arno who phoned the police to report finding Shirley's purse one day after her disappearance - hanging on the railing of the fence that surrounds the lake.

Arno was also the only one of Shirley's friends or family who told investigators that Shirley was "depressed." He failed the polygraph test and he was admitted to a mental hospital following the discovery of Shirley's body.

It should be noted that Arno West was never charged and in recent years, Shirley's son David has stated he doesn't suspect either Arno West or his own father, former Baltimore disc jockey and record store owner, Joe Parker, of having a hand in the death of his mother.

In a May 11, 2017 interview with AFRO, David is quoted as saying, “What I think happened was my mother swam out into the lake because she was an excellent swimmer, she got awards for swimming. I feel like she swam out there to clear her mind after the argument with Arno and to think about me and my brother. I think when she was ready to go, she stood up and fell back and hit her head on the spout where the water comes out, because the autopsy said she had a hole in the back of her head.”

“I think she hit her head and fell back and was unconscious and with the water coming down on her, she drowned.”

David Parker said he has been unable to find any answers after all these years. “I just want some closure…even if they say anything to pacify me. I have six children asking about their grandmother and I can’t give them no answers.”

On October 21, 1969, Theresa Austin met with Baltimore's Medical Examiner to review the evidence in the case.

Shirley, March 1969

Mrs. Austin had been haunted by dreams of Shirley and the possibility that the body she had buried was not her daughter. No family member had ever formerly identified the body that had been pulled from the fountain. It was too badly decomposed for anyone to make a visual identification.

The severe decomposition also made it impossible for the medical examiners to tell police how Shirley died.

"If she had drowned, we wouldn't be able to tell," said Dr. Edward Wilson.

"We have ruled out several causes of death," he continued. She wasn't strangled, stabbed or used narcotics. There were no needle marks, and we were particularly interested in whether she died this way."

"We also ruled out electrocution."

Contributing to the woman's uncertainty was news from Theresa's sister who claimed to have received a long-distance call over the summer from a woman who said "Hello Aunt Janie. This is Shirley."
 
And while the clothing found on the body was a match to what Shirley was reportedly wearing the night she disappeared, nobody in the family had ever seen these articles for themselves and the clothing had subsequently been destroyed, because of their condition.

However, the FBI had confirmed identification through fingerprints. Shirley had held several governmental positions over the years, including the Baltimore Post Office, so her fingerprints were on file.

This meeting was the first time Theresa had heard exactly how that identification was confirmed. As upsetting as it was to learn that Shirley's hands had been removed and shipped to the FBI's latent fingerprint department in Washington, D.C., it helped assuage her doubts.

How Shirley Lee Parker ended up in the fountain remains a mystery to this day but fortunately "Lady In The Lake" is a work of fiction, so in Laura's book there is a resolution.

I don't believe this is an active investigation. It was ruled a suspicious death but not necessarily a homicide.

Was the disparity in the press coverage attributable to the 25 year age difference between Shirley and Esther or was it a matter of race?

While the Baltimore Sun and most of the other mainstream newspapers largely ignored Shirley's disappearance, Baltimore's AFRO Newspaper covered it extensively. This disinterest on the part of the other newspapers is reflected in the novel.

Laura Lippman has said "I can't write about Baltimore and not write about race" and that racial divide is a big part of this novel, which is set in 1966.

A psychic is consulted in the book and here too there is a parallel to real-life events.

Preferring to remain anonymous until she had more details regarding the missing woman, in late May 1969, an East Baltimore medium said she was "beginning to get vibrations."

Reportedly, "the vibrations come in strong and then for some reason they go weak."

Unfortunately, it seems as though the vibrations were never stable or strong enough for her to assist the police with their inquiries.

In 1973, self-proclaimed prophet Jerome Q. Mills came forward, hoping to lead police to the truth of Shirley's death.

Jerome Q. Mills

Mills claimed to have conducted a solo seance at the lake on day three of a planned 40 day fast. During that session, Mills had a vision and recounted it to AFRO reporter Charles Ludlow.

"I traveled back in time and actually witnessed the events that led to Shirley's death. I heard her scream, I heard her being beaten. I was inside a yellow station wagon which carried her to the lake. She died in the vehicle and not the lake and I saw her paralyzed on the right side.

"One person drove her to the lake and I saw this person push her body over the iron fence surrounding the lake and I saw her dragged into the water.

Unfortunately, Mills was unable to identify the individual, saying "a veil prevented me from seeing the person" who drove Shirley to the lake. Neither could he see the license plate of the station wagon because he was traveling inside the vehicle.

Making a cameo appearance in Laura's novel is the real-life, trailblazing policewoman Violet Hill Whyte aka "Lady Law."

Mrs. Whyte retired from the police force three years before the deaths of Esther and Shirley so she never worked on either case. Her appearance in the novel is mostly limited to a party thrown in her honor but her inclusion is appreciated.

Violet Hill Whyte - Baltimore Sun file photo

Mrs. Whyte became Maryland's first black law enforcement officer on December 31, 1937.

When she accepted the position, Violet was a 39-year-old teacher, wife and mother of four.

Throughout her career, Violet specialized in cases concerning the protection and well-being of children but she was once called upon to work undercover as a dope addict and helped break up a narcotics ring.

Mrs. Whyte ultimately achieved the rank of Lieutenant and retired after 30 years on the force.

According to the Baltimore Sun, after her retirement, Mrs. Whyte "worked as a field-work supervisor for Planned Parenthood of Maryland and continued visiting prison inmates and nursing homes carrying along her famous "sunshine" bags of gifts and toiletries." She passed away on July 19, 1980 at the age of 81.

There are two video tributes to Violet Hill White available on YouTube. Here are the links -

From the Baltimore Police Dept - https://youtu.be/2cofBWC9foI
From WBAL- TV, Baltimore - https://youtu.be/tTKUMJIJp90

"The Lady In The Lake" is not the first Laura Lippman novel to draw upon real-life tragedies for inspiration but I'll save that for a future blog post.

Laura Lippman

Lady in the Bullpen

This story has an accompanying video and I'm choosing to provide a link to that video at the beginning, before we get to the meat of the story.

Why?

Because it's a clip from the game show "To Tell the Truth" and, as anyone who's familiar with the show's format knows, there's an element of mystery involved until Garry Moore says "Will the real ..... please stand up."

You don't actually need to watch the video in order to appreciate this story but you might not want to see what Wilma Schneider looks like before trying to guess which of the three women she is.

Also, Kitty Carlisle and Peggy Cass each say things in the video clip which connect directly to this story.

Kitty recalls seeing a newspaper photo of Wilma and Peggy questions the wisdom of putting women in such close proximity to men who have been without female companionship for any period of time.

Here's the link, watch or don't watch - https://youtu.be/09lVFoHKZx0

And here's the story -

In December of 1972, the Reagan administration announced that on June 30, 1973 it would be closing down California Youth Authority’s Los Guilucos School for Boys and Girls (coeducational since the Fricot School for Boys closed in April 1971).

The school, once solely for delinquent girls aged between 11 and 17 years old, had been operational since 1945.

In 1972 there were 160 employees.

The facility's staff was assured that "every effort would be made" to find them jobs.

However, CYA director Allen F. Breed didn't shy away from the truth when he stated "It is only fair to note, however, that the previous closing of two institutions has reduced the number of placement opportunities and we cannot guarantee that we will be able to offer positions to all displaced staff."

And this is how Wilma Schneider became San Quentin's first armed female guard.

Wilma, then 30-years-old, had been working at Los Guilucos for three years when the announcement came. She was employed as a group supervisor and assigned to the visitor's center.

The school's closing was a real blow to Wilma because she was in the middle of divorce and the mother of three young children, aged 1, 5 and 7 years old. She couldn't risk being unemployed so she agreed in February 1973 to accept what, according to Wilma, was "supposed to be a lateral transfer" to the San Quentin Prison's Visitors Center.

Much to her surprise, on day one of her new job, Wilma, who was wearing a pink pants suit because there were no uniforms for women, and another gal named Georgia Gruver, were told that they would be expected to work the same job assignments as the male guards and that they had the passage of the Equal Employment Opportunity Act of 1972 to thank for it.

Georgia, 26-years-old and the wife of a fellow San Quentin guard Lawrence Gruver, quit before the week was out. Wilma, however, needed that $753 a month salary and didn't feel as though she had the same option.

Is this the photo Kitty Carlisle saw?

It was big news in early March 1973 that, for the first time in San Quentin's 121 year history, there would be a female guard and the press were all over it.

Wilma's picture appeared in newspapers across the country and she eventually made the game show circuit, appearing as a guest on To Tell The Truth (April 4, 1973) and later What's My Line? (June 14, 1973).

However, Wilma's appointment was not a popular one.

An anonymous editorial in the March 3, 1973 edition of the Spokane Chronicle started off with “Whoever assigned Wilma Schneider to her present job ought to be kidding, but apparently he isn’t.”

The same article finished with "Prisons never lack for problems. This one San Quentin hardly needs, even in homage to equal rights.”

There was also much controversy revolving around of the awkwardness of female guards being assigned to supervise the showers. Captain of the Guards William Merkle said "I don't think the courts were thinking of all of these things when they acted. They may have to take another look at the situation."

The inmates concurred, especially when it came to Wilma seeing them naked.

Edward Jones, a 40-year-old inmate serving time for manslaughter, complained that he feels it's "an invasion of my privacy to have a woman watching me while I'm taking a shower. It makes me feel small and uncomfortable and I just don't like it."

The Men's Advisory Council, a group of elected convicts which investigates prisoner complaints, organized a petition.

Wilma was sympathetic to the inmates' feelings and said "All I can do is handle it the same way a doctor handles an examination; I'm not going to gawk at them. It will take time but eventually they'll feel more comfortable with me around."

Inmate Ben Rasnick, 52-years-old and serving a life sentence for his part in the shotgun murder of Lloyd Green, compared the hiring of a female guard to "putting someone who's starving in front of a locked delicatessen; there's bound to be trouble."

Although, seemingly more concerned for his own safety than Wilma's, Rasnick further stated, "I know it will make me nervous if there is a female on the block. I'll wonder if someone's going to attack her and who will get shot as a result."

Wilma certainly felt a lot of pressure. She told the Associated Press, "I can't help but think that if I don't succeed, I'm going to ruin it for all women."

Georgia Gruver's departure opened the door for Mrs. Bonnie Briggs, who began training as San Quentin's second female correctional officer on March 5, 1973. Briggs, then 29 years old, was a former dispatcher for the California Highway Patrol.

Both Wilma Schneider and Bonnie Briggs were defendants in a March 1973 lawsuit filed by inmate Larrance Hand.

Larrance Hand, in his early 40s and serving a term of 8 years to life for his 1972 rape, sexual perversion and kidnapping conviction, alleged "cruel and unusual punishment" because the women were "in a position" to watch him bathe and carry out other biological functions normally performed in private, or at least out of the presence of women.

Hand was especially bothered by Wilma's supposed strong physical resemblance to his wife; a woman with whom Hand claims to have enjoyed a normal marital relationship prior to his imprisonment. Wilma's presence was a daily reminder of his inability to continue his marital activities with his wife.

Wilma "Willy" Schneider, 1973

[Let me just comment at this point that Hand's "loving normal marital relationship" is called into question when you consider his crime. Also, ironically, the complaint was filed before the "To Tell The Truth" episode in which Peggy Cass suggested it would be "cruel and unusual punishment" for the inmates to be in close proximity to female guards.]

Hand demanded that the two women be fired and he be awarded $1.99. That's not a typographical error.

Not surprisingly, on June 28, 1973, Hand's case was dismissed.

Larrance Hand eventually changed his opinion on women guards.

In a letter published in the November 1973 edition of the San Quentin News (a prison newspaper), Hand wrote, "I can now sincerely say that they (the women guards) are a credit to the staff and place no threat to anyone on either side of the bars."

Hand added, "I feel it is only fair to express my views after the eight months since "Willie" Schneider broke the ice and became the first female guards at San Quentin."

Although Hand still maintained that while he had "some reservations about the women supervising a shower area or giving a skin search, I welcome them to work in all other areas of our city."

By November 1973, there were 5 female corrections officers at San Quentin.

Hopefully, by then the male guards had also changed their opinions regarding women in the workplace as there was some genuine resentment when Wilma started. How much of a difference had 8 months made for them?

In March of 1973, the male guards expressed their concerns about a woman's ability to back them up in a violent situation. Captain of the Guards William Merkle told reporters "You're substituting a strong arm for a weaker one and it's impossible to know what will happen."

Wilma stated at the time, "I wish I knew the answers to all the men's concerns about safety. I want to convince my colleagues that I'm not here for self-glorification, that I'm serious about my job. My biggest challenge will be letting them know I can handle the job."

In an attempt to drive home how vulnerable she was, some of the other guards would purposely put Wilma in potentially dangerous situations.

In a 2015 interview with California's Sierra Star newspaper, Wilma said “That first week was the worst. They used every tactic they could to scare us off. They sent us all over the prison, into the towers, put us on every shift. They sent us to blocks (Wilma was sent to East Block, where 950 inmates were housed) and told us that we had to shower the inmates. It’s only because the inmates threw such a fit that we were pulled from that duty. They took us into the black museum, where there were ghastly photos. Weapons made from toothbrushes, toilet paper holders, or carved out of wood were lined in neat little rows. That’s all it took. Georgia left, but I was stuck because of my personal circumstances. I think I kind of got mad about then, and decided if I was going to leave, I would do so on my own terms.”

From that same interview comes this anecdote -  “Some of the games the guards would play” Wilma said, “... one time I worked in the library alone. There was supposed to be a librarian and another guard, but I was alone. In walks a guard with six black inmates, and that guard leaves. One of the inmates walks over to me and says he wanted to show me something. What he showed me was the broom closet, and he says to me ‘looks like they have set you up again. If anything goes down, just get into the closet.’” Fortunately, nothing happened that day, and Wilma never felt physically threatened as a guard, believing as a Christian, that she was protected by God.

Not everyone was a jerk though and Wilma found a friend in Sergeant C.E. Bud Jordan. According to Wilma, Sgt. Jordan promised to walk the yards with her “until these clowns (the guards) get used to seeing you around here,” he said.

 “A lot of the guards thought I was a woman’s libber, thought I was going to go after the easier jobs,” Wilma added, “and one day, Bud asked me what a good-looking gal like me was doing there, so I explained my situation to him, and things got a lot easier for me because when Bud likes you, everyone likes you.”

Sgt. Jordan also put in a good word with Lieutenant Molloy who oversaw the prison's visiting center and about four months after being hired, Wilma was transferred to the job she had initially sought.

After 2 1/2 years at San Quentin, Wilma quit. “It was just too depressing,” she said. “I guess the pressure finally got to me. It’s like a drop of water constantly hitting a rock in the same spot - eventually, you wind up with an indentation.”

She made the decision to quit one day in August 1975, after leaving work. Wilma drove through the gate and thought to herself "I'm a creative person, I need to get the hell out of here."

Wilma said she didn't want to become hardened like the inmates or even some of the guards and considered her quitting a matter of survival. Although the quote attributed to Wilma in the press, at the time of her departure, was "I was losing that softness all females should have."

Wilma used her two weeks vacation as her two weeks notice and cut all ties with the place.

It was reported in the September 1, 1975 edition of the Honolulu Advertiser that Wilma would be working with ghostwriter Norman Singer on a memoir called "Lady in the Bullpen."

After she quit, Wilma was almost immediately approached by the National Organization for Women (NOW) and asked to become a civil rights activist and give speeches but she declined.

Wilma never viewed her position as anything other than work.

"I wasn't down there for any kind of women's movement," she said, I was there to do a job and to feed three kids."

Now that she was gone, former Captain of the Guards, William Merkle, who had hired Wilma Schneider, said “She had to absorb a lot of criticism from a lot of people. I have to give her credit for that. The sex barrier that she broke will never be rebuilt.”

In an interview with San Quentin's remaining 6 female guards, printed on September 15, 1975 (two weeks after Wilma's departure), corrections officer Betty Holland acknowledged that "certain guys will never accept us. I just tell them I'm here for a job, not to be a woman's libber."

Wilma supported herself working as freelance artist for children's books while she earned a Bachelor's Degree in Human Relations and Administration from the University of San Fransisco. She then worked as a mental health clinician until her retirement. Wilma reinvented herself so much so that she now goes by the name Wendy Woods.

In 2015, Wilma finally finished that memoir. It's called "Flowers and Guns" and she dedicated it to Bud Jordan.

Wilma says the title is a reference to the roses she says the San Quentin inmates would give her as gifts.

Wilma laughed and said, "I always thought I would call it 'Roses and Guns' but we all know why I can't do that."

I'd love to tell you my opinion of the book but it's out of print and over-priced. The second printing is even more expensive than the first. As of this writing, Amazon has the book listed for anywhere between $894.00 and $1,012.90.

Confounding Celebrity Crimes #3 - Annie Oakley

By mid-August 1903 a shocking and tragic fall from grace was being published in newspapers across the country. Annie Oakley had been arrested.

Annie Oakley - public domain image

 Here are some of the headlines:

Washington, D.C.'s Evening Star - Tue, Aug. 11, 1903

The Indianapolis News - Tue, Aug. 11, 1903

Courier Post, Camden, NJ - Tue, Aug. 11, 1903

The Topeka (Kansas) State Journal -Tue, Aug. 11, 1903

The Evening Journal - Wilmington, Delaware, Aug. 12, 1903

The New York Tribune played it a little safer:

New York Tribune - Tue, Aug. 11, 1903

If the general public was surprised to hear of this scandalous development, imagine how Annie Oakley felt. She wasn't actually sitting in a Chicago jail cell when news of this story reached her; she was at the Atlantic Highland, New Jersey home she shared with her husband Frank Butler.

In fact, on the day of the arrest, Saturday, August 8, 1903, the real Annie Oakley was participating in a trap shooting contest at the Jackson Park Gun Club in Paterson, NJ.

Newspapers soon realized their mistake and printed corrections but the story was already out there and retractions rarely get the same amount of attention as the more sensational, if incorrect, stories.

Annie and Frank Butler were outraged at the potential damage this would do to Annie's sterling reputation and they would spend the next six years filing lawsuits against the newspapers who had printed the initial story. Most papers cribbed the copy filed by George W. Pratt, one of William Randolph Hearst's reporters.

It has been said that William Randolph Hearst tried to avoid paying the anticipated court judgments of $20,000 (equivalent to $581,298.88 in today's money) by sending an investigator to Darke County, Ohio (Annie Oakley's birthplace) to collect reputation-smearing gossip from Oakley's past. The investigator found nothing.

Annie Oakley won all but one of her 55 libel lawsuits. When all was said and done, the Butlers had collected less in judgments than the total of their legal expenses but it wasn't about the money.

But what about the woman who was arrested. How had this case of mistaken identity come about? Did she really try to pass herself off as Annie Oakley?

On August 8, 1903, Chicago police officer John J. Mulcahy, of the Harrison Street Station, answered a complaint by a Charles Curtis. Mr. Curtis wanted to report the theft of his trousers by his  roommate. Curtis suspected the woman had stolen his pants with the intention of trading them for drug money. Mulcahy made the arrest. Whether or not the woman was guilty of theft was moot at that point because she was most certainly drunk or high and disorderly.

When booked, the woman identified herself as "Lillian Cody." This wasn't the name she was born with but that was her professional name. "Lillian Cody" was born Maud Marie Lee in Canada on February 22, 1872. She and her English-born parents eventually settled in Pennsylvania.

Maud began training with the Forepaugh Circus as a contortionist and trick rider at the age of seven. In March 1888, she served as a practice assistant to sharpshooter S.F. Cody.

S.F. Cody, 1909

S.F. Cody was born Samuel Franklin Cowdery, on March 6, 1867 in Davenport, Iowa. Samuel looked like a young Buffalo Bill Cody and, seeking to capitalize on that as he pursued a career in show business, Samuel changed his last name. S.F. would willingly claim a (bogus) familial connection to Buffalo Bill when it suited him but he was also known to deny it.

Although S.F. moved on to another town once the circus season opened, he and Maud reconnected later, on October 7, 1888, in the town of Reading, Pennsylvania.

Maud had been living and working in Reading for several months. No doubt, running away to join the circus sounded pretty good to a 16-year-old girl who was a cleaner at boarding houses. Off they went.

In February 1889, S.F. and Maud were performing at a dime museum in NYC. Dime museums were popular but not well-respected. Although, the lifestyle must have appealed to Maud because she stuck with it.

The couple toured the country, taking work where they could get it - including circuses, vaudeville and burlesque.

On their way to Kansas, the two stopped off in Norristown, PA to get married. The wedding was on April 18, 1889. Maud was 17-years-old, S.F. was 21-years-old.

Annie Oakley-public domain

Maud soon developed her own sharpshooting act. Maud even replicated the famous mirror trick-shot that Annie Oakley used in her act but with far less success.

It was on Saturday, March 10, 1890, in Stamford, Connecticut that Maud performed that particular trick for the last time.

The Washburn & Arlington Circus was in town and the venue was packed. Maud announced she would shoot a half-dollar coin while aiming at it's reflection in a mirror.

Maud lifted the rifle to her shoulder and as she was readying herself, a strand of her long brown hair fell across her eyes. As Maud reached to move the hair out of her eye line, her finger brushed against the trigger and the rifle discharged. Twelve-year-old Mary King, seated 20 feet away, was shot. A .22 caliber bullet lodged in the girl's chest, near her right armpit.

Medical attention was immediate but local doctors were unsure if they could remove the bullet. Mary's condition was considered critical.

Maud was placed under house arrest at a hotel and an expert surgeon was called in. Fortunately, the bullet was extracted, Mary recovered and authorities deemed the whole incident a terrible accident, lacking in malice. Maud vowed to never touch a rifle again. She did not, however, promise to stay away from revolvers.

Washburn & Arlington released Mr. and Mrs. Cody from their contract.

S.F. thought they might have some success overseas and, in June 1890, S.F. sailed to London. One month later, Maud joined him. S.F. decided she should adopt the stage name Lillian Cody and that they would promote themselves as a brother/sister act.

The couple soon found work at various venues. In late 1890, they joined a "Wild West Burlesque on Skates" show that played at the Olympian Club in London. This show was a lampoon of the Buffalo Bill Wild West Shows and Maud was to appear as "Any O' Klay."

During their time in England, the Codys had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Elizabeth Mary King. Elizabeth was married and had four children, three boys and one girl. Maud took the time to teach the two younger boys to shoot.

On November 8, 1891, Maud boarded a boat headed for America. Maud was traveling alone and she would never see her husband again. She was 19-years-old.

Something had caused a rift between Samuel and Maud. Elizabeth took Maud's place in the act and in Samuel's bed.

Elizabeth divorced her husband, christened herself Lela Cody and on November 21, 1891, "S.F. Cody and Family, the Champion Shooters of America" made their first appearance on the stage. The "family" consisting of S.F., Elizabeth (now Lela) and Elizabeth's two youngest sons, Leon and Vivian.

Nov. 1898 ad for the "The Klondyke Nugget" show

Maud returned to her parents' home in Swedeland, Pennsylvania to nurse her wounds, both emotional and physical.

Performing in these Wild West shows was taxing and dangerous. Maud had her share of injuries, including an 1894 fall during a parachute jump from a balloon which landed her in a tree.

A common cure for pain back in those days was a dose of morphine. Is this how Maud first became addicted to drugs? As a treatment for on the job injuries? Morphine wasn't illegal but it was highly addictive. There is no clear evidence to say when Maud starting using morphine but there's no doubt that she used and abused it.

Maud ultimately returned to show business but as a solo act. I wasn't able to find any notices to show that Maud performed during 1892 or 1893 but in 1894, she was once again very active.

It wasn't uncommon to see Maud referred to in newspapers as Buffalo Bill's niece. It isn't true but it's just marketing. Maud was also promoting herself a cowgirl who would ride any horse, broken or unbroken. This was true.

In advance of  Iowa's 1894 State Fair, this item began appearing in local newspapers:

Estherville Daily News - Thurs, Aug. 23, 1894

From September 3-8, 1894 Maud performed at Iowa's State Fair. Here's a description of her act.

This ad appeared in the Detroit Free Press on September 2, 1894 and it encouraged locals to bring their wild horses to the fairgrounds during the upcoming State Fair, promising that Lillian Cody would tame them-

Sixteen days later, there was this ad for the Michigan State Fair and it contained a clear indication that Maud was coming off an injury to perform.

Maud found employment but perhaps struggled personally. While Maud had worked multiple times during 1894, there's little evidence that she worked in 1895.

Then on October 24, 1896, Maud was arrested in Indianapolis, Indiana for attempting to steal a $23 fur collar from the Boyd, Besten & Langen Store. At her trial, Maud testified that the fur collar had accidentally stuck to the lining of her coat and that she hadn't intended to steal it.

Judge McCray found Maud to be guilty of larceny but took pity on her and released Maud on her own recognizance. It was felt that Maud was clearly suffering from morphine addiction and it was considered she wasn't responsible for her actions. In fact, Maud was sick in the courtroom while awaiting sentencing and could barely leave the courtroom under her own power. Maud's friends promised to take her to a sanatorium where she could receive treatment.

Maud eventually was able to return to work but tragedy struck again.

On January 7, 1897, Lillian was attempting to reduce her operating expenses by manufacturing for herself the target balls that she used in her act.

Maud was boiling a mixture of coal tar and sulphur over a flame in the backstage area at the Casino Theater in Anderson, Indiana when a theater employee dashed by Maud with a bucket of water. The other woman stumbled and water splashed into Maud's pan of boiling tar. There was an immediate eruption and Maud was burned on her arms, face and under her jaw. Dr. Willson made her as comfortable as her could - no doubt with some morphine.

Four months later, an article entitled "Kentuckians Go Home," printed in the May 26, 1897 edition of The Tennessean, mentions Lillian Cody's participation in the Tennessee Centennial Exposition.

The 1900 US Census lists Maud as living in Pennsylvania with her parents and her profession is "champion expert shooter."

I cannot find any newspaper accounts, dated after her appearance at 1897 Expo to indicate that Maud was gainfully employed until she pops up again in 1902. Unfortunately, again the news isn't good.

May 1, 1902 ad

Sept. 5, 1902 ad

On May 16, 1902, while performing in Buckskin Bill's Wild West show in Russellville, Kentucky, Maud was thrown from a horse and badly injured.

Newspapers reported her condition as critical. She escaped with a dislocated right hip and multiple bruises. It can be supposed that she was prescribed morphine for the pain.

Interestingly, the "V.F. Cody" whose name headlines the event on the left is a man named Victor Anderson. He adopted the moniker Vic Cody after pairing up with Maud in 1896 to perform in a Wild West Show held at Cincinnati, Ohio's Zoological Gardens. It seems that Maud had some leftover posters from her "Cody and Sister" years with S.F. and Victor had no problem assuming that name.

Dislocated hip or not, if Maud didn't perform, she didn't get paid so with a real "the show must go on" attitude she joined the "Great Buffalo and Wild West Shows United" and was back in the saddle early by July 1902 rather than taking the time to properly recuperate from her hip injury.

One year later, Maud was sharing an apartment with a man named Charles Curtis in a particularly run-down section of Chicago. He was a friend when she needed one but Maud had pushed him a little too far when she stole his trousers.

As luck would have it, several reporters were hanging around the police station looking for a good story when Maud was brought in. Three reporters gained permission to interview Maud between the hours of 2 and 4 AM, Sunday morning.

As far as I can tell, the prisoner never identified herself as Annie Oakley but there were enough similarities between the professional lives of the two women that assumptions were made and reporters drew their own conclusions after hearing portions of the rambling, incoherent statements which Maud had made during her initial incarceration.

Lockup keeper sitting outside jail cells in the Harrison Street police station in 1907

Police matron Anna Murphy was on duty during that time and apparently heard Maud saying that she had been married to Sam Cody, who was Buffalo Bill's son. Maud claimed to have been a sharpshooter in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show before another woman took over her role as "Annie Oakley." Maud claimed to have performed in Europe and that she had a son named Vivian. The prisoner admitted to being a morphine addict. These were all things Anna Murphy would testify to in an October 25, 1905 deposition, used during Annie Oakley's later legal proceedings.

Well, Maud was a sharpshooter in several Wild West Shows and she had performed in Europe. Maud had been married to Samuel Cody (a man who at times claimed to be related to Buffalo Bill). Elizabeth King, the woman who had assumed Maud's role as "Any O'Kay" in the act, had a son named Vivian. Maud was a morphine addict. The press had even gotten that fact wrong though by claiming Annie Oakley was hooked on cocaine.

Anna Murphy described the prisoner as being 29 or 30 years old, with dark hair and dark eyes. Her clothes were unclean, she was pale and haggard but Maud had made some effort to look presentable. Maud had no visible skin sores but she had wrapped a cloth around her neck, under her jaw. This might have been done to cover up any scars left from her 1897 coal tar mishap.

Charles Curtis visited Maud in prison on Sunday, August 9, 1903, the morning after her arrest, he even brought her a sandwich and some coffee. There's a chance Charles no longer wanted to bring charges against his friend for the theft of the trousers, which she said she would return to him, but Maud was still facing charges of public intoxication and disturbing the peace.

On Monday, August 10, 1903, Maud appeared before Police Magistrate John R. Cavelry. Her name given at the time of her arrest, "Lillian Cody," was announced and Maud stepped forward.

Officer Mulcahy presented the charges to the magistrate and said "This woman claims to be Annie Oakley, the famous rifle shot. She is full of disease and morphine and has been living with a colored man, Charles Curtis, on Sherman Street, I think. She is accused by him of stealing a pair of trousers."

Charles Curtis had not appeared in court to press the charge of theft so it would be dropped but Maud clearly was not looking her best and there was the other charge of disorderly conduct. Maud was fined $25 and seeing as she couldn't pay that, she was to spend time in Bridewell Prison and essentially dry out.

Chicago's Bridewell Prison, circa 1903

Reporters, looking for someone to blame for their own errors, turned their attention on Maud and they weren't kind. Maud was described as "badly diseased," an "imposter," "a physical wreck," "a toothless hag," etc. Much was made of Maud performing in burlesque, a very low form of entertainment. Even vaudeville players looked down on burlesque performers.

In her own deposition, taken on October 30, 1905, the answers Maud gave to questions asked went a long to explaining how her personal history could be mistaken for that of Annie Oakley's but the Butlers weren't prepared to let the newspapers off they hook and they continued to seek justice for the false reporting.

Interestingly, although Annie Oakley might not have remembered it, Maud recalled and testified to the fact that she had actually met Miss Oakley in early 1889 while Annie was performing in "Deadwood Dick" with fellow cast member S.F. Cody.

Sadly, as time passed, Maud's behavior was becoming more erratic. Whether it was long term effects of the morphine use or, as some have proposed, schizophrenia, we can't truly know.

In early November of 1904, Maud was arrested for stealing coal from Pennsylvania's Reading Railway coal cars. She admitted her guilt in open court and on December 7th was sentenced to 30 days in prison.

Upon her January 1905 release, Maud went to live with her parents again.

Three months later, in April 1905, Maud married a young, illiterate Italian immigrant named Gaetano Fontenelli. The union, illegal anyway since she and Samuel Cody were still married, didn't last.

In early 1906, Maud's family had her committed to Pennsylvania's Norristown State Hospital for the Insane.

Female Convalescent Building, built between 1907-1909

While the inmates of the Norristown State Hospital weren't being purposely mistreated, the facility, which opened in 1880, ultimately became over-crowded and under-funded. Patients were sleeping in the hallways, there were insufficient facilities for the patients, etc. A state grant made expansion possible and, between 1907 and 1909, five new buildings were added, including the Female Convalescent Building.

Little was heard about Maud after her entry into the asylum until S.F. Cody died in an August 7, 1913 plane accident.

Man-lifter War Kite designed by S.F.

S.F. had been openly pursuing his passion for flying since 1901, first with manned kites and then planes that he would design and pilot himself. S.F. Cody was successful and respected in the field.

William Evans

On August 7, 1913, S.F. was test-flying his latest design, the Cody Floatplane at a location in Aldershot, England.

Thirty-year-old Cricketeer William Evans was S.F.'s passenger. Leon King, Elizabeth's son had given up his place on the flight to make room for Evans.

The plane experienced structural problems at 200 feet. Neither S.F. or Evans were strapped in. As the plane broke apart, they plummeted to the ground and were killed instantly, S.F.'s neck was broken.

Wreckage site - August 7, 1913

Maud had been telling people for years that her husband was dead and there's a possibility she actually believed that. In Maud's 1905 deposition, she stated that Sam had drowned while trying to reach the North Pole.

There was quite a bit of press coverage, both overseas and in America, when S.F. Cody actually died and this drew the attention of Maud's family back in  Camden, New Jersey.

As far as they knew, S.F. Cody had never filed for a divorce from Maud nor had Maud sought one from him. Maud was S.F.'s widow not Lela Cody and as such was entitled to a portion of his estate.

Maud's father Joseph and her stepmother (*) Elizabeth indicated that they would filed a claim on S.F. Cody's estate with Maud as a beneficiary.

(*) Maud's mother Phoebe had died on February 3, 1910. Cause of death was "chronic nefritis."

According to the second Mrs. Lee, who was also Phoebe's sister and thus Maud's aunt, they had tried to several times over the years to contact S. F. and asked him for help with Maud's health care issues but they had heard nothing in response.

Maud was declared incompetent in 1914 so that her family could go forward with their claim. Maud testified in court that she understood this pronouncement was in her best interest.

Seven years later, the court ruled in Maud's favor. She received one thousand pounds. I believe that's roughly $14,000, in today's money.

When Maud's father Joseph filed paperwork requesting a guardianship for his daughter, the October 13, 1914 edition of the Philadelphia Inquirer reported: "Later the couple engaged in balloon ascensions and parachute leaps. In one of these Mrs. Cody was injured so that her mind was affected and for about nine years she has been a patient in the asylum here."

Maud was never released from the Norristown State Hospital. She died on March 20, 1947 from heart failure with dementia praecox as a contributing factor. Maud was 75-years-old and had spent the last 41 years of her life in the psychiatric hospital. Maud's death certificate, filed under the last name "Fontenelli," lists her usual occupation as "circus rider." She's buried in an unmarked grave at the Norris City Cemetery. The Cemetery sits on what was once Norristown State Hospital grounds.

photo from Norris City Cemetery's website

So, while Maud Lee, aka Lillian Cody, will forever be remembered for NOT being Annie Oakley, I think it's only fair that we accurately remember Maud for who she was and what she achieved in her own career before mental illness and morphine addiction took hold.

Annie Oakley, born Phoebe Ann Mosey, died on November 2, 1926, at the age of 66. Cause of death was pernicious anemia. A heartbroken Frank Butler died 18 days later. Her ashes and his body are buried in Brock Cemetery in Versailles, Ohio.

I've spent quite a bit of time searching for a photo, promo poster or line drawing of Maud Lee aka Lillian Cody but I have come up empty. It's disappointing but I'll keep looking - because that's what I do. However, I don't wish to hold up this blog post in the meanwhile, especially as it's very likely there is no surviving photo.

Clearly, my main focus here is Maud but there's an excellent dual biography of S.F. Cody and Maud Lee that I'm strongly recommending to anyone with an interest in these two individuals. S.F. had his own brushes with the law and he enjoyed a very varied career. So, for additional reading, pick up "A Pair of Shootists" written by Jerry Kurtz and published in 2010.

Wait a minute, Mr. Postman

You know that older woman who's been a fixture at your job for years and years? Almost every workplace has one. Well, don't be so quick to dismiss her - she may have a skeleton in her closet.

Tensas Gazette -September 4, 1975

 Josie Aly nee' Fultz was 73-years-old when she retired from her position within the Tensas Parish (Louisiana) School Board. She had spent 27 years in their employ as their bookkeper/secretary. By all accounts, she was much-loved and respected.

To mark the occasion, Newellton, LA Mayor Edwin Preis declared August 31, 1975 to be "Mrs. Josie Aly Day" and he lavished praise upon her as not only a good employee but one of Newellton's finest citizens.

I have to wonder how many of those who attended Josie's retirement party that Sunday afternoon knew about her secret shame and subsequent brush with the law 52 years earlier when she was a beautiful, blonde, unwed, 21-year-old school teacher.

This blog entry isn't intended to throw shade upon Josie, who was most-likely deserving of their respect and admiration, but her story is too "wtf, Josie?" not to tell.

On Friday, April 20, 1923, Duncan, Oklahoma Postmaster James W. Elliott carried a suspicious parcel over to the Goodman and Grooms Furniture and Undertaking building. Yes, you read that right. Furniture and Undertaking. It's all woodworking.

The package had arrived on the Rock Island train No. 23 the previous day, at 4 PM, and clerks noticed right off that it was odorous but they didn't open it until the following day when the smell became unbearable.

The 13 1/2 pound cardboard box was insufficiently address to "Miss Ethel Martyn, Duncan, Oklahoma" and had no return address. Clerks didn't recognize the name and a check of the town's directories had proved fruitless.

It's doubtful this workspace changed very much between 1912 and 1923

Just a quick note about the number of people living in town that the package could have been meant for - I'm not sure what the population of Duncan was in 1923 and it's tough to guess as there was a serious spike between the 1920 and 1930 census records when the numbers surged from 3,463 to 8,363 but suffice to say it would be a challenge to deliver that parcel without a street address or a "General Delivery" endorsement which would indicate the recipient might be stopping in to pick it up herself.

As the Postmaster would later tell a reporter from the Duncan Weekly Eagle, "I wanted some officer or other outsider to witness the act of opening the package, not that I had any idea that it enclosed a tragedy, but just to play safe. I thought it was something that was spoiling and should be attended to."

What Postmaster Elliott and later undertaker L. Woodard found was shocking and yes, tragic.

Inside the box was a dead baby boy, wrapped in bloody swaddling clothes and surrounded by newspapers and magazines. L. Woodard determined the baby was only a few hours old when he died.

The US Postal Inspectors were called, the body embalmed and retained along with the box he came in as well as the various packing materials.

Reporters were scratching their heads. Surely there was an easier way to dispose of an unwanted baby? Had the baby been killed? Was there some malice in shipping the corpse to this "Ethel Martyn," if she even existed?

Inspectors Jack W. Adamson and Joe W. Lisman, out of Kansas City, Missouri were dispatched to investigate. This would be the first time in the history of the Post Office that the USPSIS was called to investigate such a case.

At this stage of the investigation, it was believed the mystery would go unsolved. There were so few clues. However, one should never underestimate the detection skills of the US Postal Inspectors.

The packing materials surrounding the baby were pages from New Orleans newspapers plus the January 1923 editions of "The Designer" (a woman's magazine) and "Normal Instructor and Primary Plans."

The box which had been used to mail the baby had been through the mail system previously. Using the assorted postmarks, labels and markings on the box, the cardboard container was traced to Memphis, TN, to Vicksburg, MS, and then New Orleans, LA.

Inspectors tracked the box back to a New Orleans mercantile firm who had shipped merchandise to a woman in Newellton, LA. That woman recalled using the same box to ship some items of clothing to her cousin Josie Fultz, a 1921 Louisiana State Normal College graduate now teaching at Scott High School, just outside of Lafayette, LA.

Inspectors Adamson and Lisman traveled to Scott and asked not for Josie specifically but instead inquired as to whether any staff member had been out on sick leave as of lately. One teacher fit the bill - Miss Josie Fultz. It had been a less than two weeks since the Duncan Post Office opened that horrific parcel. So much for the case being unsolvable.

Josie wasn't a tough nut to crack. On April 28, 1923, Josie sobbed openly as she told the inspectors her sad tale and begged them not inform her family.

Nobody knew Josie had been pregnant. Josie hadn't told the father of the baby, nor her parents, friends or coworkers not even a doctor. Josie had not sought medical care at any point during the pregnancy and in fact, delivered the baby herself - alone in her room in the teacher's housing quarters of the Scott School on the evening of April 7, 1923. No easy task considering there were other teachers in adjoining rooms. The 1920 US Census, which predates Josie's assignment to the Scott High School, shows 4 teachers living on the premises but I'm not sure how many were living there in 1923.

The Scott High School

Josie passed out from the strain of birthing the baby and when she regained consciousness, her son was dead. She would never waiver in that assertion - she did not kill her baby. As to why Josie had opted to mail the corpse, apparently that was just an attempt to conceal her predicament.

"First I put the body in the bottom of my trunk," Josie explained, "and I kept it there several days and managed to make the other persons believe I was just sick. Then someone complained of a bad odor. I was frightened to death. The next day I dragged myself out of bed, wrapped the body and sent it to Miss Ethel Martyn, Duncan, Oklahoma. Then I went back to the house and almost fainted from fear."

The birth date comes not from Josie's confession but an affidavit filed later claiming the child was born "on or about April 7, 1923." The date Josie mailed the parcel from Lousiana to Oklahoma was April 16, 1923.

Josie was taken into custody but authorities weren't sure what to charge her with. They couldn't actually prove the infant hadn't died of anything but natural causes and there was even some disagreement regarding the age of the child at the time of death. "Misuse of the mails" the best they could do until a decision was made.

Josie's physical as well as mental health was in question since she'd not seen a doctor before, during or after giving birth. She was quite fragile by this time. Josie was taken for treatment to a Lafayette hospital while Federal and State authorities argued over whose responsibility she was.

The state did ultimately charge Josie with the unlawful, willful and felonious death of her child.

Josie Fultz was transported for her arraignment by train from Lafayette, LA to Opelousas, LA under the watchful eyes of the two Postal Inspectors, Deputy Pete Brooks and Josie's father John D. Fultz. Someone evidently had contacted Josie's parents with news of her impending arrest.

Shortly after reaching Opelousas, Josie and her father were joined by Josie's mother, her uncle Edgar Newell and his wife Isabelle. Josie, once worried about her family discovering her secret, was now grateful for their support. A reporter for The Clarion News commented on Mrs. Newell's "refined appearance" and this "most affecting" reunion.

John W. Lewis, attorney

It was agreed that Josie would be housed at the LaCombe Hotel under Dr. S.B. Wolff's care while her father obtained a lawyer to represent her. The Fultz family engaged John W. Lewis, Sr. who quickly issued the following statement:

"This young lady is a vicarious victim of circumstances. It is a most pathetic case. Miss Fultz is a girl of education, refinement and from her early childhood has been surrounded with the best refined influences. That she will be acquitted of the federal and state charges against her there is no doubt.

"I think that some of the newspapers, instead of featuring her as a criminal should have at least, reserved their columns for the defense of a girl who is justly entitled to the protection of society and the good men and woman of Louisiana. I tell you this girl needs, deserves and should have at once the support and comfort of all decent, self-respecting citizens and I am going to stand by her until the end."

There was much truth in what John W. Lewis said. The Fultz family and especially the Newell family on Josie's mother's side were prominent, well-respected individuals with strong ties to the community. Heck, in 1876 they named the town after the Newell family.

Josie was released on bond. The combined amount was $7,500.00; the division of funds being $5,000 for the murder charge brought by the State of Lousiana and $2,500 for the federal charges of "sending unmailable materials through the mail."

Putting up the money for Josie's bail was S.R. Parkerson, vice-president of the First National Bank of Lafayette,  L. L. Judice and J. Gilbert St. Julien, president and vice-president respectively of the Lafayette Parish School Board.

Josie never revealed the name of the man who fathered her child. All she would say to the authorities or the press was that he was a man from Newellton to whom she had been engaged these last three years. Those acquainted with the family must have known who this was and newspapers reported that Josie's father, John D. Fultz, was traveling back home from Opelousas to confront the man.

According to the May 4th edition of Alabama's Clayton Record, Mr. Fultz knew the man in question and "intends to kill him on sight." I can find no record of a murder or even an assault charge leveled against Josie's father. A less dramatic report of John's intentions appeared in the May 1st edition of The Shreveport Journal which quoted Josie's father as returning to Newellton "to square things with the man who ruined my daughter."

In fairness to this unnamed individual, it takes two to make a baby and Josie was adamant that he did not know of her condition.

Josie needn't have worried about her family's reaction to her plight. Once the truth of the matter had been made public, via the extensive newspaper coverage as well as word-of-mouth, Josie had not only her family's full support but that of the community. The Opelousas League of Women Voters sent a fresh bouquet of flowers to Josie's hotel room every day during her stay there.

Mrs. Ducie Mornhinveg, League president, told a reporter from the Clarion-Progress newspaper, "We must stand by ready to help any woman in distress, because, who, if not a woman, will sympathize with a young girl in such a plight as that which has befallen Miss Fultz."

Josie's mother greeted visitors in the parlor room of the LaCombe Hotel and on May 5, 1923, when the family finally checked out the Hotel in order to take a train to Baton Rouge, with Newellton as their final destination, Mrs. Fultz issued the following statement:

LaCombe Hotel

"Our hearts are almost too full of gratitude and thankfulness to the good people of Opelousas to be able to express our feelings. Surely we were blessed in our misfortune in being cast among such good and sympathetic people, and if anything could lesson our sorrow and give us consolation, the men and women of Opelousas left nothing undone. God bless Opelousas, and God bless its good men and women. It must be good indeed to live in such a community."

According to the Buffalo Morning Express, hundreds of letters of support were sent. One signed simply and anonymously "A Schoolgirl Friend," was "full of bitterness for the man who betrayed Miss Fultz and expressed the hope that "the heavy hand of the law would crush him for having ruined a life so sweet with promise of the cherished hopes of being the bride of a boyhood friend.""

Josie spent her days propped up in bed, in a darkened hotel room, dwelling on her sadness and concerned for the future but the letters and steady stream of flowers gave her some hope. Perhaps she would not be pilloried.

The Louisiana District Attorney's office soon dropped the infanticide charge knowing they had no definite proof that Josie had killed her baby.

Josie's trial on the federal charges, scheduled for June 1923, was postponed until the next session. In January 1924 it was announced that a grand jury refused to indict Josie so all federal charges against her were "nolle prossed" and those charges were dropped as well.

Josie returned to the bosom of her friends and family. She seemingly abandoned teaching. The 1930 Census lists Josie's profession as bookkeeper for a ladies' ready-to-wear company and she was living in Shreveport, LA.

The 1940 census, shows Josie once again living in Newellton with her parents along with her brother Edward and his Edward's wife Mary. Josie's working as stenographer for a law office. Also listed as "a roomer" at the Fultz home in 1940 was Edwin Preis. I knew that name sounded familiar. Is this the same man who later became Mayor of Newellton? (see paragraph 3 above)

On August 8, 1942, when she was 40-years-old, Josie Fultz married Charles Horace Aly, he was 43 and a school bus driver. The ceremony was in her parents' living room.

Charles Aly died on March 31, 1967 at the St. Charles Legion Memorial Hospital and according to his obituary, he "had been in poor health for some time."

Josie began her career with the Tensas School Board on March 18, 1948. Twenty seven years later, on September 1, 1975, she retired. She left twenty five unused sick leave days on the books for which she was compensated $1,029.00. That's $4889.80 in today's money.

In early December 1983, Josie was recovering from a broken hip and the following month she took up residence in the Tensas Nursing Home.

Josie died on July 4, 1987 at the age of 85. She's buried alongside her husband Charles in the Legion Memorial Cemetery in Newellton, LA.

Findagrave photo uploaded by Karen Klemm Pinckard

Not explained to my satisfaction was why Josie chose to mail her child's body to a fictitious person or how she came up with that specific name and location? And, of course, it would be nice to know the name of the man who helped make that baby. I also wondered where the baby's body was buried.

Hoping for answers to my questions and confirmation that there were indeed three other individuals in the teacher's quarters when Josie gave birth, I submitted a FOIA request for the USPSIS records relating to this case so that I could gather as many facts possible without relying exclusively on the various newspapers accounts but unfortunately "any investigatory records that may have existed during the 1920's concerning the individuals in question would have been destroyed in accordance with the prescribed records retention schedule of the U.S. Postal Service."

I spent 30 years working for the USPS and I can recall at least one incident when a suspicious package had our supervisors reaching out to the Postal Inspectors. There were many incoming Priority Mail envelopes to be delivered that day but only one of them was dripping blood. It turned out to be a raw steak some knucklehead thought he'd send to his uncle who lived in our town. It was frozen when he had mailed it and he was genuinely surprised to learn it had thawed out. There's a reason Omaha Steaks uses dry-ice and foam coolers to ship their meats.

More sad news coming from Duncan, Oklahoma and involving Postmaster James Elliott was reported in Oklahoma newspapers in November 1933.

Elton Elliott, 12-year-old son of James and Lena Elliott, had accidentally shot his friend Junior White, aged 11, while they were out hunting on the morning of November 22, 1923. The discharge from Elton's shotgun caught Junior in the right side and in his right arm. Junior died the following day; Elton served as a pallbearer. It doesn't seem as though there were any legal repercussions for the Elliott family.

Also, why do I mention which train carried the parcel to Duncan, OK? Because the Rock Island Train Line has it's own following and fandom.

 

The Rock Island train No. 23 was involved in a number of accidents over the years including one in 1934 when it sideswiped another train, causing 2 fatalities and mulitple injuries.

Moline, IL Dispatch, Oct 12, 1934 - No. 14 on the left, No. 23 on the right

There's also the Rock Island 905 Museum in Duncan, Oklahoma's Fuqua Park.